


Wait For It

by amutemockingjay



Series: Love Lost at Low Tide [2]
Category: Kubo and the Two Strings (2016)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Angst, Destiny, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, First Love, Gen, Loss, Soul-Searching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-02
Updated: 2016-10-02
Packaged: 2018-08-19 04:20:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8189689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amutemockingjay/pseuds/amutemockingjay
Summary: Kubo wanted to say he didn't believe in any of it. Didn't believe in fate or destiny or the idea that people were meant to cross paths. 
A companion piece to Between the Sunset and the Waves.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Just a couple of quick notes. One, I have a Hamilton problem so yes, the reference is there. Two, this was the third piece in the bingo challenge; the prompt was ordained which usually refers to the priesthood, but an alternate definition is destined or fated, and I liked that one better, so I went with that. Three, in my headcanon, Kubo is ace but not opposed to romantic relationships, and some romantic touching. Four, Also in my headcanon, Kubo eventually moved out of the cave and into the village, so that's where he is in this fic. Five, Because I am theatre trash in general, I'm not gonna lie; sixteen year old Sachiko is influenced by Ilse in Spring Awakening. Six, comments are always appreciated, lovely readers. <3

Love doesn’t discriminate between the sinners and the saints, it takes and it takes and it takes and we keep loving anyway we laugh and we cry and we break and we make our mistakes…

\--Wait for It, Hamilton

* * *

 

Kubo wanted to say that he didn’t believe in it. Didn’t believe in fate or destiny or the idea that people were meant to cross paths. He knew that if she could, his mother would disagree with him. Would tell him that if it weren’t for fate, he wouldn’t have been in existence. And it was easy to believe, when he took in the story of Hanzo and Sariatu, of a love that shook the heavens. More difficult to apply it to himself and his quiet life in the village.

Five years after his battle with the Moon King, at age sixteen, he had finally grown into his father’s robes. He wanted to be worthy of them. He strove to live his life the way his father would have been proud of him for. It had taken a year to rebuild the village after his aunts’ destruction. That had kept him plenty busy, barely any time for stories. That was when he had met Sachiko, and she had disappeared as quickly as she had come into his life. He found, from time to time, that he missed her. It had been nice, having a friend around his age. He had always been in a strange position in the village, being a beloved storyteller, but at the same time, he had never quite _belonged_. There but not there. Human and mortal and half-god and magical. A contradiction that had split his mother in half, and the older Kubo got, the more he could feel the same split.

The need to disappear from time to time had not dissipated, either. The burden, over the years, had not become easier to bear. Whoever had told him that time would heal all wounds hadn’t seen what he had seen, hadn’t lost what he had lost. But it wasn’t in his nature to get lost in self-pity. It was in his nature to pick up his shamisen, and move on. Put roots down and settle into a life with his grandfather. Cook and clean and when he was old enough, apprentice in the village, anything to earn a little to live off. Being the town troubadour was not enough. Days fell into a comforting routine, and as the months passed into years, he found himself more and more often in the cemetery, down on his knees and murmuring soft words to his parents, knowing that they could hear him.

Sometimes, he thought of Sachiko’s words, of leaving them a legacy that would live on in the hearts and minds of others. Those were the days when he had strength and courage and found peace amongst the turmoil of his heart.  Then there were the other days, ones where he couldn’t see the bright from the dark, where his mind was full of storm clouds, a flash of lightening bringing blinding clarity.

“Kubo? Are you all right?” The village blacksmith looked over at him.

Kubo wiped the sweat off his brow and looked down at the sword he was working on. The metal was pounded into something unrecognizable. “Sorry,” he said sheepishly. “Guess I’m a little distracted.”

“Take a break,” the blacksmith suggested. “It’ll be here when you get back.”

“Thanks.” He picked up his shamisen from the corner, and headed out of the dark forge and into the daylight.

Always, he turned to the sea in moments like these. He thought of—though he could not remember—the journey by sea that his mother had taken, fleeing her father and Sisters. A dark and stormy sea, the way she had told it. So different from the gentle waves that lap now. Sometimes, thinking of his mother banished the dark clouds, but today, they still lingered. He picked up a stone, smooth from the tides, and skipped it across the water.

That was when he heard the laughter. He stood up instantly. He hadn’t heard that sound in five years but he remembered, oh, how he remembered.

He ran down the beach, following the sound until he saw her. She was in a red dress, barefoot as always, twirling in the sand and laughing.

“Sachiko!”

She stopped for a brief moment, stumbling and landing in the sand, laughing still. She didn’t seem to notice him, so he called out again.

“Sachiko!”

She stood up, swaying on her feet slightly. “Kubo!” She ran, pell-mell, towards him and threw her arms around him.

“Kubo, is it really you?”  Her breath tickled his ear, and smelt strong, a scent he could not quite place.

“Yeah,” he said, grinning. “I can’t believe it’s you, though. I thought I’d never see you again.”

“You and me both,” she replied. She let go of the embrace, and grabbed his hand. “Come. Come and tell me more amazing stories with your magic.”

He had a million questions that bubbled to the surface. “Sachiko, what happened? Where did you go? Why are you back? Are you going to stay?”

She shook her head, her dark locks in a tangle. Kubo had the momentary desire to sit with her, running his hands through her hair. He dismissed the thought.

“Too many questions,” she said. Her face was narrower, he noticed, her cheekbones more prominent. He wondered if she had gone hungry, wherever she had been.

“Remind me of someone I used to know,” he muttered.

“Monkey,” she said with a gleam of white teeth. “I remember, from your story.”

She settled on the beach. He settled next to her. He pulled his shamisen off his back and placed it next to him. “You still remember my story?”

She nodded. “I thought about it all the time. Whenever I was lost or lonely or I couldn’t sleep, I would imagine you telling me that story, how you made it come to life.”

He flushed. “I didn’t forget you, either.” He paused, picked up his shamisen. “I wish you’d stayed.”

She looked him straight in his good eye. “You were lonely.”

“I never said that.”

“You didn’t have to. I could see the pain in you.”

“How?”

“You may only have one eye, Kubo, but you’re still human. You can see the soul in a man’s eyes, my father used to say.”

“Semi-human,” he corrected instantly.

“My point still stands.”  

She reached into the small pack on her shoulder and pulled out a corked flask, taking a long pull from it. She handed it to him; he took it gratefully. He was thirsty. He came up sputtering, the liquid burning his throat.

“That’s not water,” he said between coughs.

She grinned again. “No, no it is not.”

He took in her red-rimmed eyes, remembering her stumbling on the beach. “You’re drunk.”

“Guilty.” She waved the flask under his nose. “Sure you don’t want some more?”

He shook his head. “I think I’ll stick to water. Or tea.”  He wondered what had happened to her, what had left her so thin, so bereft, and apparently, drunk at high noon.  She seemed so different from the girl he had known, as briefly as he had.

She laughed, not unkindly. “You’re so pure.”

“I thought that was what you liked about me.”  He desperately wanted answers from her, but she wouldn’t quite meet his eyes.

She leaned in, elbows on her knees. “One of the things,” she said lightly. She looked at the shamisen. “Will you tell me a story?”

He put down the instrument. “Not until you sober up.” He took the flask out of her hands and placed it next to him, out of her reach. “Why are you drinking that stuff, anyway?”

She hung her head. “It’s so shameful,” she whispered.

“I’m not here to judge. I’m just worried. You disappear for five years, and come back like this. Do you even have a place to stay?”

“I can’t go back to my family,” she said.

He reached over and took her hand in his, intertwining their fingers, giving her a reassuring squeeze. “Then you’ll stay with Grandfather and I.”

Her eyes lit up. “Really? You wouldn’t mind?”

“Grandfather would be honored. As would I. Under one condition, though.” He stood up and picked up his shamisen.

“Yes?”

“You toss your flask into the sea.”

“Consider it done.”

* * *

 

Kubo knew he was right, that she hadn’t been fed properly in quite some time, judging by how she devoured the simple dinner he had prepared. If she was still drunk from earlier, she did a good job of hiding it, all charm and smiles to Grandfather.

“I like her, Kubo,” he said as they cleaned up after the meal. “She’s a pretty girl,” he said with emphasis, raising an eyebrow.

Much to his embarrassment, Kubo flushed. “We’re just friends, Grandfather.”

The old man had a twinkle in his eye as he dried the last dish. “For now. I can take care of the rest. Go be with Sachiko.”

She was outside, knees drawn up to her chest, staring out at the cherry blossom tree behind the house, whose blooms were all but gone as spring had passed. Kubo settled down next to her.

“Hey,” he said softly.

“Hey,” she echoed.

“You all right?” He asked.

“Just a little lost in my thoughts,” she admitted. “When I left five years ago, I never thought I’d end up back here again.”

“Why did you come back? Why did you leave in the first place? Where were you, how did you survive on your own?” He knew he was asking too many questions, but he had to know.

Sachiko bit her lower lip. “It’s not a pretty story,” she warned.

“Getting lost never is.”

Much to his surprise, she leaned up against him, resting her head on his shoulder. Automatically, he reached over and stroked her hair.

“I wanted to be a great warrior, you know that much.”

“Yes, I remember. You would have been worthy of my father.”

She shook her head. “You flatter me.”

“You’re strong, Sachiko, and a quick learner. Both qualities that my father admired.”

She managed a sad smile. “I never made it that far, anyway. I hitched a ride to Kyoto, hoping to make my fortune.”

Kubo tried to imagine a city as bustling as Kyoto; his own journey outside the village had been remote at best. “What was it like, Kyoto?”

“Amazing. You could hardly breathe for people, and animals. People everywhere. It was so easy to get lost. I wandered for days, not sure of where I was going. But I asked around; I had heard there were female samurai, onna bugeisha, at least one, who spent time in Kyoto.”

“Did you find her?”

Sachiko made a small humming noise. “Yes. I begged her for an audience. By some miracle, she agreed.”  She let out a small sigh. “I showed her everything you had taught me. Begged for an apprenticeship, anything, really. I would have been her maid, if I had to be. She told me I wasn’t even worthy of that.”

“What?” Kubo yelped with indignation.

“Apparently, onna bugeisha are not plucked from the streets like a rat. They are women of a noble class, women married to samurai men. She said no backwater peasant could ever be what I dreamed to be, and dismissed me.”

Kubo wanted to leap to his feet and fight, but there was no one to fight, only the ghostly shadow in Sachiko’s eyes. “So what did you do?”

“I bowed and thanked her, and left. I wish I were as talented a witch as my mother; I would have cursed her tongue for speaking so badly. And I scraped out a life in Kyoto. That’s the ugly part.”

“You could have come back here.”

“And face my parents, after I left? I couldn’t.”

“We would have opened our home to you.”

Sachiko shook her head again. “I couldn’t live in the village any longer. I felt trapped there, like I was screaming and no one could hear me.” She sat up, away from Kubo, and turned to face him directly. He found he missed stroking her hair the second she was gone.

“Why did you come back, Sachiko?”

“For you.”

He was certain he hadn’t heard her correctly. “What?”

“I came back for you, Kubo. You were the only bright spot in my life. I thought about you all the time. Wondered if you missed me as much as I missed you.”

“I missed you,” he said softly. “I missed you a lot.”

She leaned in. “There was something else. Something I thought about quite a lot.”

He knew what was going to happen a split second before it did. She pressed her lips to his. It was his first kiss ever, and he automatically froze up, unable to kiss her back. She pulled away and giggled.

“First time?”

He nodded, too embarrassed to speak.

“You’re sweet,” she said. She leaned in again, and this time, Kubo met her kiss, fully at one with her, and fully into it.  They pulled apart to catch their breath, and she smiled. “You’re good at this,” she whispered. He flushed pink.

“It seems we were meant to cross paths,” he said. Though he swore—he swore—that his mother’s words couldn’t possibly be right, they felt as much, in this moment, with Sachiko, hungry for his kisses.

He pressed a kiss between her eyes. She grabbed his hand.

“Come with me,” she said.

“What?”

“Come with me. On my travels. Please.”

He could hardly believe his ears. He thought Sachiko had come back for him. To stay in the village. Not that he wasn’t ready for adventure, but that he had obligations here. To his grandfather, who still couldn’t remember. To the spirits of his parents. To the villagers.

“I can’t,” he said. “I wish I could, but I can’t. I have a life here. My Grandfather to take care of. I thought…I thought you would stay.”

“Stay?” She shook her head. “I could never stay.  I’m sorry. I should have never—I should have known. I’m a hurricane. I destroy everything I touch.” She stood up. “I should go.”

She began to walk away, and Kubo jumped to his feet.

“Sachiko, wait!”

She didn’t stop. Instead, he watched her disappear from his life yet again, more bitter than sweet.

* * *

 

He didn’t cry easily. He never had. Instead, he sat outside, the thick summer air oppressive in every possible way. He struck a chord on his shamisen, playing the same song he had made up five years before.

“Kubo.” His grandfather stepped outside.

“What?” He snapped automatically, and then lowered his head. “I’m sorry, Grandfather.”

Grandfather shrugged his shoulders. “Neither here nor there. Go after her.”

“What?”

“You think I wasn’t listening? Go. Before you lose her again.”

“But Grandfather I have to—“

“The entire village takes care of me, Kubo. I won’t be alone. You’re of an age where you need to spread your wings and find your life. I know you love her.”

Kubo opened his mouth to protest, and Grandfather tapped his temple, as if searching for something. “My daughter…I don’t remember exactly what happened. But I know, in her memory, that it’s important for you to do this. Go, Kubo. Don’t live to regret it.”

“Are you certain?”

“It’s your destiny, Kubo. I have never been more certain of anything in my life.”

Kubo strapped his shamisen to his back, and ran to embrace his grandfather. “Thank you.”

“Always. Now go find her.”

He couldn’t find her on the dirt path that ran through the center of the village. Or in the market. Or anywhere in the village for that matter. There was only one spot he thought she may have gone, and he hoped with his whole heart that she was still there.

It was high tide; the water came up so close to the shore that his feet got wet in an instant. He struggled to adjust to the darkness. He offered a prayer to whomever was listening that she would be there. He saw a ripple of a shadow, and called out into the void.

“Sachiko?”

He could see her now, on her knees, the water rushing by her sides. He knelt next to her, close enough to whisper in her ear.

“You are my quest.”


End file.
